


In the Valley

by noun



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noun/pseuds/noun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Vale is a poor place for a man who depends on linear time and a working postal service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Valley

I.

The van breaks down about twenty miles away from the motel they plan to spend the night in. There’s a lot of groaning and complaints from the team, but he reassures them it’s common enough in the desert, and besides, they brought extra parts and George minored in engineering and has that weekend hobby of repairing vintage cars, so all they need to do is wait for nightfall. The temperature will drop, and they will poke the hood open and call for a tow, because the nearby town of Boulder Canyon is less than ten miles away, according to the GPS on Ivan’s iPhone, and they all have service anyway, so what’s the big deal?

His team is four graduate students, a geologist, two biologists, himself, and Stacy, his fiance’s sister. Stacy is a professor in chemistry and biological engineering at the college the graduate students from, and he’s considering applying for a job, if the results of this summer’s experiment go well and the resulting paper gets picked up by a decent publication.

It’s about six at night when Judy points out the Arby’s sign a few hundred feet in the distance, bright against the night sky. The graduate students and Ivan, the immature geologist, all start complaining about being hungry and wanting milkshakes- Ivan is nearly twenty-eight, he should know better- but Stacy laughs and subverts his authority and leads the way.

Abby is the only one that hesitates at the threshold, but goes in after some prodding.

(They eat, he assumes, even though on the walk back, he remembers nothing from the dinner, and everyone else is oddly quiet.)

The van gets prodded at by George, and near nine or so, Stacy reminds him that he promised James and Lucy a phone call, and it’s past her bedtime anyway, Carlos, don’t keep the poor girl up any later than this, she’s three after all, and you can’t expect James to deal with her and that cat all alone while you’re gone, can you? 

It’s gentle ribbing. Stacy’s the one that introduced him and James, anyway, after James’ wife had left him and Stacy two years back.

(He and James are getting married in the spring, and Lucy’s so excited to be the flower girl it’s all she ever talks about.)  
He goes to dial, but just then George gives a shout, and all nine of them pile back into the van. Abby falls asleep on Sam-the-biologist’s shoulder (he’s still learning names) and the rest of them talk softly. He tries to call his family, but oddly enough, he doesn’t have service anymore. It’s one missed night, he justifies to himself, and rests his head on the box holding the lenses and slides for the microscopes. 

II.

He’s woken by Stacy and Ivan arguing not-so-quietly, in the voice that people use when they want to be soft but can’t help but have harsh edges to their words, due to stress or anger or confusion.  
“It is not on the map, Professor–“ Ivan murmurs, looking over the atlases they put in the weird little drawer on the passenger side. 

“Look harder,” Stacy says through gritted teeth. 

Carlos leans forward, wincing at the sudden pain in his neck. He’s not as young as he used to be. He remembers, fondly, the birthday party James threw for him last week, before they started the road trip. Lucy had squeezed forty-one candles on the cake and three for luck. He asked her why, and she stared at him oddly before saying, ‘You’ll need it, daddy,” and darting off to go play. 

He inches his way over the sleeping team, and leans in to talk to Ivan and Stacy.

“What’s wrong?”

Stacy gestures angrily at the map Ivan is holding. He’s chewing his lip, and his accent is coming in thicker, a sign he’s stressed.

“The roads we are on. They are not on the maps.”

There’s something coming up on the road, and Stacy slows the car to get a better look at it. “We got lost last night after you went to bed. I think I made a wrong turn? There were no turns, though, and we kept passing the same rock. I think it was, anyway. Ivan, you’re the geologist, was it the same rock?”

Ivan shrugs, and goes back to eyeing the maps.

They pass the sign, which reads,‘Welcome to Night Vale!”, and then in smaller font: “Soccer and Baseball Champions, 2009. We beat Desert Bluffs! Go Night Vale!” 

Carlos just shrugs. “They’ll have a motel. We’ll stay the night and refuel. Stretch our legs. We made good time through Texas. The kids will like a day off, won’t they?”

 

III.

“The gas needle didn’t move once last night, Carlos. Not one millimeter.”

Carlos looks up from his intent study of the different bags of chips available in the small grocery store. It’s an odd thing for Stacy to start a conversation with. 

“We drove from nine thirty until seven this morning, which is when you woke up. Nearly ten hours, and we didn’t run out of gas. “

He chooses the chips with the least amount of fat, then answers.

“During his shift, maybe Ivan stopped for gas?” He offers the remark gently. Stacy isn’t usually like this. They’re all a bit on edge, or at least he supposes they are. 

“I don’t think so. I had the credit card. He would have needed to wake me to pay.” There’s a bit of doubt in her voice, and she shakes her head. “Forget it. I’ve had this awful headache since dinner last night. Sleeping in a real bed should fix it.” 

He raises his eyebrows at that. “You want us to spend the night here?” She nods. “Give everyone a break. We’ve been driving for five days, we’re already off schedule...”

Carlos nods faintly, then wanders off towards the front of the store to pay.

IV.

“Real nice program we got on the radio tonight. Home grown, done by a local.”

The hotel manager passes them the keys across the faux wood counter, smiling. 

“We’re good,” Stacy says. Ivan has three boxes of pizza in one hand and a bag of liter sodas in the other, from a local place called Big Rico’s, and the grad students as well as most everyone else is clustered around him like hungry baby birds. They’ve rented four rooms in the family style hotel, and the ‘plan’ is to eat pizza, pass out, and wake early tomorrow to keep driving. The manager pauses, then repeats in a monotone, staring at them intently.

“If I were you, I’d listen to the radio. Starts at nine. Interesting news.”

 

V.

He’s convinced it’s a joke, at first.

He and Stacy are sharing a room because he’s as gay as the day is long and it’s cheaper. It’s only with a sort of reluctance that they turned on the radio in the first place.

There’s a creepy little intro song, and some news that really cannot be news at all. Angels and forbidden dog parks- it must be a comedy show of some sort.  
Then his name comes up.

Press conference? Renting the space behind the pizzeria? The show goes to some sort of break, and he turns to Stacy and lets out a nervous laugh. It must be an elaborate prank of some sort. That’s the only thing that makes sense, honestly. Though he does have nice hair.

There’s a knock on the door two songs into the break, and Marissa and Judy poke their heads in.

“Hey boss! Thought we’d let you know we got all the boxes into the new lab. Ramon, Sam, and Abby are still poking around by the house.”  
Stacy blanches, and goes to grab the dresser, stop herself from falling. He himself is too startled to do much.

Gushing, Judy brushes past her and goes to grasp his hand. “Dr. Carlos, sir, I just have to say again what an honor it is that you elected to bring me with you on this trip, sir, I cannot–“

Stacy steps in, herds them both out, and then both of them sit on the foot of the bed closest to the radio, and turn the dial up.

Marissa has Judy’s voice.

VI.

He tries to call James. The phone rings and rings but never goes to the machine.

VII.

There’s a man that runs up to him in the street the next morning as the students are dragging him to the ‘new lab’. 

(Ivan no longer speaks perfect English like before, his accent so thick Carlos can barely decipher it now. Judy and Marissa have changed voices.)

The man is neither thin nor fat, neither short nor tall. He has purple tattoos over his forearms, and perhaps further, but the sleeves of his collared shirt cover that. There is a scar in the middle of his forehead. It is horizontal, the edge pink as if fresh.

“Good morning, Carlos. How is your team?” This is the voice that last night pronounced him perfect and fabulous, and ‘fell in love’ with him. He does not get angry often, but he can feel the edge of something boiling up now, and before he can even let loose a word, Stacy grabs his arm and speaks for him.

“Oh, Cecil, he’s awful before his coffee. We’re well, thank you.”

The man looks right through her, but nods, and keeps walking.

VIII.

The lab, when they get to it, is stocked with state of the art equipment. The others of the team have no idea what he or Stacy are talking about when they mention the van. 

IX. 

Josie’s the one that tells them, eventually.

They have been there nearly a month by this time. Their team is down to five. Some residents of the town have joined them, but they’re oddly blank, or very quiet, and frighten at the softest noise. 

“We don’t know what he- it- is,” she reveals over a cup of coffee, rosary wrapped around her fingers. “He is monstrous, an abomination. I was a nun before this. I came out west to establish a nunnery for our order. That was in 1848. The train broke down. There was an attack. I survived. Wandered for days before I found this town, half mad with thirst.” Josie wraps wrinkled fingers around the mug and sips. They’ve been giving housing close to the lab, houses with all the same layout and decorations somehow perfectly suited to the occupant.

“We get news of the outside world,” the elderly woman admits. “I even have a computer. Sometimes it doesn’t work. My kitchen is filled with food. I don’t age.

People can leave, sometimes. We have tourists. Some folks have kids, age, die. There are, oh, maybe four or so hundred of us real folks. The rest are all like automatons. We realies stick together. Those fakes come back to life the next day, but if we die, we die forever. Unless he cares enough to bring us back.” The old woman cackles.

“I want to go home,” he murmurs.

“Can’t,” Josie says, mercilessly. “He’s oddly infatuated with you. Never seen anything like it. My advice? String him along, show him some romance.”

She stands, and Stacy goes to help her. Stacy doesn’t talk as much, isn’t as jovial. 

“One more thing,” Josie says, before she leaves. “As far as we can tell, he doesn’t know he’s... whatever he is. A god? Something left over from before Christianity crawled over here, or even life.” She gives him a stern look. “Don’t make life hard for the rest of us.”

X.

“I can’t even get my fucking hair cut, Stacy!” He shouts, slamming his fist on the table. Stacy has huge bags under her eyes, and her nails are chewed down to the quick. “The barber, Telly? He was like us, Stacy, so many people are like us and now he’s gone–“

He buries his head in his hands.

“We’re toys to him. He can make people to run around this town, but their eyes are empty and he slaughters them by the thousands makes them disappear but they come back the next day, but Stacy, we can’t come back, you can’t, we’re real.” Carlos hears himself swallow, and he lets the tears flow openly. “I want to go home. I can’t remember what Lucy looks like and there are no photos of her or James in my phone and the one in my wallet is gone too.”

Stacy looks up at him from the lab table, where she’s calibrating one of their instruments, which was designed by Josie. The loss of Abby and George to the glow cloud weighs heavily on her.  
“Play your role, Carlos. We’ll find a way to kill it, just. Play your role until then.”


End file.
